


Solace From Sirens

by itsnicenottobesoalone



Category: Sherlock (TV), johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1348600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsnicenottobesoalone/pseuds/itsnicenottobesoalone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has nightmares sometimes. Sometimes he sees John. John always helps him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solace From Sirens

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr! But I would rather post my works from tumblr here as well! If you want my tumblr, just shoot me a message! My works are also un-beta'd so if anyone wants to beta my work, that would be cool too!

'He is my solace. He is my safety. When the world becomes too dark, too loud and my sanity is pierced like a balloon stretched past its allowance, he covers my ears and shields my eyes. When the abyss that is the darkest reaches of my world come for me, clawing with long and dripping fingers, he is standing before me, determination in his eyes. He keeps the sirens that pursue me at bay'  
__________  
Sherlock has…well he has nightmares. He would kill me for saying such a thing, because as he would so arrogantly put it 'geniuses don't have nightmares'. But that’s bullshit and I know better. We’ve been partners for several months now, and even still, he wakes in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, panting and shaking, on the verge of tears and he still refuses to wake me. I always wake when I feel him shifting around under the covers, and only then am I permitted to hold him and brush the hair from his face and only then am I allowed to tell him I’m here and nothing can hurt him. Only then.  
They started after he came back, and honestly I thought I would be the one having the nightmares. God knows I had them while he was away, those horrific images of him falling, never slowing, coming closer and closer to the pavement…but not him. He informed me that my nightmares were foolish things to allow my mind to be plagued with and that I must believe that such a thing will never happen again. I never thought it would happen to begin with. But only on the second night back home did I hear violent sobbing coming from what was at that point still just his room. I crept in and saw a sight that still gives me chills to this day. Sherlock on the edge of his bed, head in hands, tears falling freely from his cheeks as he rocked back and forth. He allowed me to comfort him, but not hold him. Not just yet.  
They had become fewer and farther between now that we were together. However, that didn’t stop nights like this. I woke like usual, feeling the other side of the bed move so slightly. He still didn’t like to wake me for these nightmares, he felt it unnecessary to bother me when in his opinion, he should not have nightmares at all. But I still woke, and like always, I saw him propped against the headboard with his chest bare and heaving in the faint light from the moon outside our bedroom window. I watched him for a moment, still bewildered that after all this time, he was really mine and I could say that with confidence. However, more pressing matters were at hand; I needed to help him come down from whatever was hurting him. I tentatively placed my hand on his forearm that rest in his blanketed lap. He relaxed a bit at my touch but had yet to meet my eyes, still unsettled by whatever haunted his dreams.  
“Tell me, please.” I whispered, earning a quick glance from him at last. His eyes looked cold and distant; it was a bad one this time apparently. He sighed, shaking a bit as he mustered the ability to speak.  
“It was you, John.” I was confused and my eyebrows mirrored that as they knit in concern. I sat up and joined him against our headboard, our shoulders touching but I had yet to take him into my arms yet. It was best to let him decide the timing when it came to such things. He slightly edged closer to me though, pressing himself more firmly against my body, making my smile a bit.  
“Okay, tell me more. What about me?” I attempted to speak in my best professional manner, trying to erase any emotion from my voice. He told me once that it helped him elaborate his nightmares to me easier, it was easier to tell me difficult things if I wasn't ‘smothering him with affection’. I for one did not believe I ever smothered him, but they were his nightmares and I had grown used to Sherlock’s demands so I really had no problem allowing such things to slide.  
“It was you. He had you again. We were back at the pool and you walked out just like last time, only this time…this time I couldn't save you. The bomb went off and—and when I could see again, you were…dead.” Now he did let me hold him, moving down the bed and seating himself between my legs. He was shaking so violently I could hardly imagine how vivid the dream must have been to affect him so greatly. He had taken many days to come to terms with the fact that I was alive and well after the pool incident. He followed me everywhere and that was possibly the first time I thought he might care for me a bit more that he let on. I moved to wrap my arms around his shoulders, running my fingers through his hair as I placed gentle kisses atop his head. He latched onto my arms tightly, almost as if he were afraid I would leave. Sherlock fears nothing, he charges headfirst into certain death and yet, when the thought of my death enters his mind, he is reduced to a shaking mess in my arms. Endearing. I blushed a bit before clearing my throat.  
“Well you did save me. You saved me and I’m here, you’re here and so am I. We’re both safe and everything will be okay. It was just a nightmare, you know that. I’m not going anywhere any time soon.” He relaxed in my arms then, sighing deeply as his shaking began to fade. I couldn't help the smirk that plastered itself on my face then; it gave me a sense of pride knowing that when the great Sherlock Holmes was falling apart at the seams, something he did so rarely, I was the one who could bring him back. He curled more into my embrace and I felt his breathing begin to even out, indicating that he was falling back into what I hoped would be a relatively peaceful slumber.  
Hardly into the morning of the next day I stood in our kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards as I tried to find where Sherlock had moved all the tea to. He claimed he moved it because it was blocking his way to something he needed for an experiment, but I was having a great deal of difficulty finding it and I wanted nothing more than at that moment to smash the tube that appeared to be festering on the kitchen table. I nearly had my fingers around what I only assumed was a jar of the loose tea Mrs. Hudson had given us last week, when I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist and a familiar chin rest on my shoulder. I immediately released the jar and hugged the arms tighter around me, breathing out a laugh as I felt Sherlock place a kiss at my temple.  
“What was that for?” I questioned, enjoying the feeling of having him around me, being so affectionate.  
“To say thank you. I was analyzing my dream from last night and after concluding that my fears were ridiculous and that as you said, we were both perfectly safe, I came to the realization that I have yet to thank you for helping me at night.” I had to bite back a laugh at the way he phrased his gratitude, the way he always phrased things. So analytical and professional, even when we had seen each other in our most vulnerable moments. I turned in his arms and pressed my self against his form, resting my cheek against his chest as I inhaled his scent for a moment. He wrapped his arms around me again, and while either of us had yet to say so, I knew in that moment he loved me and I him.


End file.
